


I will If You Will

by Anonymous



Series: Wee Omens [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild exploration of wetting as a fetish, Mutual Masturbation, Omorashi, Roleplay, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After a long summer night of drinking, Crowley and Aziraphale share some personal embarrassing anecdotes and discover a shared kink. They discuss a fantasy.. and get off while talking about it.





	I will If You Will

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags guys. This here fic contains the peeing of pants for sexual and emotional pleasure.

Several bottles of Malbec in, seated at a small, miracled table in the bookshop, Aziraphale had been entertaining Crowley with stories about Gabriel, such as the time he was chased by angry peacocks. Crowley had leant back so far to fully laugh he was essentially hanging upside down from the chair.

‘He still talks about it!’ continued Aziraphale, slurring just a little and pouring more wine for them both. ‘The plague of peacocks that were no doubt sent by Satan. Idiot doesn't know what a zoo is.’

Crowley roared with laughter, limbs twisting in his chair, until he gradually started to calm. He organised himself to sit sensibly again, still tittering and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

‘Oh that’s perfect,’ he intoned. He slid a hand between his thighs. ‘I’d better sober up before I wet myself laughing.’

‘Crowley!’ chided his angel, unable to take his eyes off the demon’s wedged hand.

‘What?’ he whined defensively. ‘Don’t tell me that’s never happened to you because angels are too perfect.’

Aziraphale blushed sweetly and smiled shyly. ‘Perhaps once, a teensy weensy little bit.’

‘A teensy weensy little bit?’ mocked Crowley. ‘In six thousand years, only a teensy weensy little bit?’ He took a good swig of wine.

‘While laughing,’ clarified Aziraphale. ‘I can’t deny there have been one or two more significant mishaps in all that time.’

Crowley spluttered on his wine. ‘What?’

Aziraphale shrugged. ‘Well, getting used to biological features has had other hiccoughs over the years. Tell me, when you change into a snake, doesn’t that squash things?’

Crowley was still hung up on the angel’s brief mention of mishaps, but tried to answer the question. ‘Um. Not really. It sort of resolves itself mostly. I suppose I wouldn’t do it on a full bladder as it wouldn’t be comfortable. Never really thought about it.’

‘Oh,’ said the angel, now lost in thought.

‘But angel,’ said Crowley, leaning forward with a wolfish grin. ‘Tell me about your mishaps.’

Oh, Crowley,’ cooed Aziraphale, with an admonishing look. 

‘What?’ asked the demon innocently. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Like you said, ethereal or occult being, squashed into a vessel, can be tricky. Especially if you enjoy a good few cups of tea.’

‘Or a few bottles of wine,’ said Aziraphale.

‘Oh.. oops!’ said Crowley, eyes lighting up. ‘Is that how it happened?’

‘Maybe once… or twice. A little bit. On the occasions where I forgot I wasn’t human, or made the mistake of not extracting the wine from my system before a journey, or… bed.’

Crowley gasped. ‘You wet the bed?’

‘ _ A little bit! _ ’ said Aziraphale crossly, shifting in the chair.

Crowley rubbed his arm. ‘Hey now, angel it’s fine! It’s happened to me lots of times!’

‘Has it?’

‘Of course! Things that are made for human consumption can have unpredictable effects on us. But what about…  _ not _ just a little bit?’

Aziraphale wiggled. ‘You mean, more than just a…’

‘I mean wetting yourself. Completely. Have you ever done it?’ Crowley felt his face heat up. It wasn’t a question he would have asked if not significantly inebriated. 

The angel swallowed, his ears turning pink. He stared at the wine in his glass as if deciding if this was ever the sort of thing one talked about. 

‘I have,’ said Crowley casually, hoping to encourage him. ‘Even as demonic miracles go it’s complicated. You have to wait until it’s outside of your body to get rid of it.’

‘Yes, same,’ said Aziraphale sincerely. ‘It’s really quite a pain. But I suppose it’s better than what the humans have to deal with if it happens to them.’

Crowley cringed. ‘Definitely. Though as you know, it’s not always appropriate to perform a miracle so sometimes you can be stuck.’

The angel’s eyes widened. ‘And that’s happened to you?’

‘Yes. Though, I find wearing dark clothing conceals a multitude of sins.’

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes fondly. ‘Honestly. You’re so naughty.’

‘Oh really?’ challenged Crowley with a cheeky smile. He cocked his head on one side. ‘So you’ve never found yourself in a situation where you have no choice but to sit there and have a good, long wee in your clothes?’

Aziraphale reddened and bit his lip, eyes dancing. ‘Oh all right. I’ll tell you.’

Crowley tingled all over and paid his angel every bit of attention.

Aziraphale turned the stem of the glass between his thumb and forefinger. ‘There was this one time at The Globe. Very long play. Didn’t know how much longer it was going to go on for. I promised Shakespeare I’d see it. I had a seat in the gallery.’

‘Was it one of the funny ones?’

‘No, one of the more moping and mournful ones, but it progressed to some jolly good battle scenes. It was riveting. No one wanted to move or miss anything. I kept thinking, any minute now, it will end. But it didn’t. It kept going. I saw someone make a dash for it. But by then I knew it was too late. I wouldn’t be able to stand. So I removed my cape and placed it over my lap. 

‘ _ Angel _ …’ said Crowley with an affected gasp. 

‘Yes, well. I knew I was going to have to wet myself. So I did. The play ended 20 minutes later.’

Crowley leaned forward, elbow on the table, resting his chin on his knuckles. He studied Aziraphale’s face, just as he did when the angel was enjoying dinner. ‘Did you like it?’ he hissed gently.

‘Crowley!’ scolded Aziraphale, shifting in his seat. But his eyes darted back to the demon’s with a flicker of mischief. He couldn’t pretend to be affronted by the subject matter anymore. ‘It was an intense relief, of course.’

‘Hmmm,’ moaned Crowley. ‘All hot and wet. Sitting in a puddle.  _ Naughty _ angel.’

‘Oh stop it. I miracled it away as soon as I had… finished.’

‘Immediately?’ teased Crowley, raising an eyebrow. ‘Or did you give it a couple of seconds to relish the sensation?’

Aziraphale playfully smacked the demon on the wrist. ‘I said stop it,’ he chided softly, eyes twinkling. ‘It may have been a few seconds. It is… not the worst feeling in the world.’

‘Wish I’d seen it,’ said Crowley with a smirk. 

‘You’re appalling,’ said Aziraphale imperiously, taking a sip of wine. ‘I was discreet. There were one or two others in the audience who...did not have my advantage. They left the theatre with wet bottoms.’

‘Yes. I’ve seen that in the funny ones.’

‘Oh please tell me that’s not why you like the funny ones!’

‘No,’ said Crowley with a frown. ‘It’s not… the same.’

‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale, eyeing Crowley’s transparent thought process. ‘My dear, do you want to tell me what it is?’

It was Crowley’s turn to blush, just ever so slightly. ‘You know, angel, there are agents in hell whose entire portfolio is about encouraging that particular secretive pleasure.’

‘Why?’ asked Aziraphale, nonplussed. ‘After all, who does it hurt?’

‘The human, of course. In human society, they believe it is shameful and weak. Such activities then breed shame. Shame breeds a feeling of delinquency and alienation. The human starts to identify with it and unconsciously seek out real trouble, even actual sin. Then they…’

‘Saunter vaguely downwards?’ prompted Aziraphale. 

Crowley didn’t appreciate the link but didn’t argue. ‘Yes. Silly really. I mean, one day the humans will figure out it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it won’t work anymore. Those demons will be out of a job.’

‘So, have you done that, darling?’ asked Aziraphale softly. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be cross.’

‘Not really my thing,’ shrugged Crowley. ‘And my interest…’ he bit his lip. The angel extended his hand to Crowley’s and squeezed it to reassure him he could confide. ‘It’s personal, not business,’ he explained. 

‘Have you done it, then? On purpose, perhaps?’

‘On purpose?’ quizzed Crowley in surprise. ‘That  _ would _ be naughty.’ He winked, and poured himself some wine, aware of his angel’s steady stare. He took a deep breath and got comfy in his seat.

‘15th century. They invented coffee. Oh, angel, it was like a reward for surviving the 14th century. Great stuff. I could be demonic, faster. Only thing is, no one realised the effect it would have on the bladder.’

‘Ah, yes,’ chuckled Aziraphale, holding out his glass so Crowley could top it up. ‘Caffeine. Such a powerful diuretic. Even we are not impervious.’

‘Well, I know that now. I loved the stuff - the Sufis created such delectable coffee. But it changed certain patterns of behaviour before I knew it had. Couple of centuries in, I was going about things as I always had, not really giving such functions a second thought. There was that nagging sense that I ought to answer nature’s call some time in the next few days, when there was a sudden... _ pang _ .’

‘Oh dear,’ said Aziraphale coyly, and perhaps with more delight than he should have. ‘Did we have ourselves a little accident?’

Crowley grinned. ‘I was sitting and reading a book that was giving me plenty of material for a good 50 years of temptation techniques. It was brilliant. I was completely absorbed. But the pang happened and I realised I needed to do something quickly, so I stood up. Big mistake. I couldn’t move. I tried to hold it - literally grabbing myself. There was only one thing I could do. And then I was doing it.’

Aziraphale giggled. 

‘Angel, it was bad. It was like a dam burst. I drenched myself, weeing in my tights and slops and shoes. It hurt a bit while the muscles were cramping, and then I found myself moaning with relief. It went on for ages, like a demonic waterfall.’

‘Oh Crowley dear,’ said Aziraphale with a cheeky smile. ‘Happens to the best of us. Trouble with these mortal vessels is they can have a life of their own at times.’

‘Well, I thought mine had broken and I was going to discorporate, but the friend I’d been drinking with that day peeled with laughter, then told me he’d been watching my leg jiggle for about two hours, and was waiting for me to wet myself.’

‘That seems unkind,’ said Aziraphale, concerned.

Crowley grinned. ‘No. He was a good friend. He told me there was a… culture, which he enjoyed being part of.’

‘I see. And this  _ culture _ involved what, exactly?’

Crowley cleared his throat. Aziraphale’s eyes were boring into him. He did his best to look right back. ‘Watching people becoming desperate to relieve themselves. And then watching as their bodies take over. Watching their clothes get wet in their private area. Watching their shame, their pleasure.’

Aziraphale finally had to look away. He studied the stem of his wine glass, and wondered why his mouth was dry. ‘Did they want to do those things?’

Crowley looked shocked for a moment. ‘Oh god yes! Sorry. Should have said. It was game, really. An act. A performance.’

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale warmly. 

‘They were mimicking it. Or… drinking a lot of fluids and letting nature take its course. Their partners would watch and… enjoy it.’

Aziraphale gave Crowley a dark look, with a slight smile. ‘Enjoy it?’

‘Yesss,’ said Crowley. ‘They would touch themselves while it was happening. And then they would touch each other.’

‘Whilst still wet?’

‘Yep,’ confirmed Crowley, swirling the wine in the glass. 

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale, short of breath.

‘My friend explained it as power dynamic. Power play. Giving up power, surrendering, that sort of thing. One sort of gives in, or does as their partner or masters tell them.’

‘And if they don’t do as they’re told?’ asked Aziraphale, breath shallow, feigning nonchalance.

‘Well, in this game, they would be punished somehow. Some were given a lot of water to drink and told they were forbidden to relieve themselves.’ Crowley wriggled a little at the thought. Aziraphale watched him relish the memory.

‘Some could hold it for a long time, but eventually, all would lose control. And that was delightful.’

‘Did you play this game?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which part did you play?’

‘Both.’

‘Which part did you prefer?’

‘Hard to say,’ said Crowley. ‘All I know is I enjoyed all of it more when I was partnered up with my particular friend. That made all the difference. I liked…’ he swallowed, glancing at Aziraphale. ‘I liked wetting for him. And I liked watching him come undone in front of me.’

Aziraphale felt a little damp and very hard. He gave a shaky exhale. He regarded Crowley who was showing all the same signs of arousal - tented crotch, dilated pupils, swollen lips. 

‘Oh wicked demon,’ he said fondly, trying to keep any note of jealousy out of his voice, though he wasn’t sure if it was jealousy for the friendship or for the decadence of the game. 

‘Very wicked,’ flirted Crowley, shimmying deliberately. 

‘And then,’ started Aziraphale, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to the question that was forming. ‘When they finally gave in, were they punished or rewarded?’

‘Ah well!’ said Crowley, merrily. ‘Whatever they wanted. They were usually comforted, I would say. It was felt that there was a certain amount of distress with losing control, so the partners would take care of them. Or join in. Or whatever.’

‘Gracious,’ said Aziraphale, feeling very warm.

‘However,’ said Crowley, with a glint in his eyes. ‘Sometimes, the bad ones would wet on purpose as an act of defiance.’

Aziraphale almost swooned. ‘So they would be... punished?’

‘Yes, if they wanted to be. Depending their own arrangements. They might be told off, or put in the corner, or spanked, whipped, beaten, or even ignored. Whatever they wanted. It was still part of the game. It was about putting yourself in the hands of your partner.’

‘How did the partner know what to do?’ asked Aziraphale, almost wistfully.

Crowley smiled at him and shifted closer so they were face to face, centimetres apart. ‘They would talk about it, angel,’ he said, voice low and gentle. ‘Agree what they both wanted. Just like any other private game. And as usual, there was a signal if they wanted or needed to stop playing.’

‘Right,’ breathed Aziraphale, matching Crowley’s soft tone, and pressing his forehead against the demon’s. ‘So are you going to tell me what you want.’ The angel took his hand and placed in firmly in his crotch so the demon could feel how aroused he was.

‘You like this?’ asked Crowley, knowing the answer but needing to hear it. He’d never dreamed... 

‘Yes,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Tell me, please,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘Tell me what you’d like. Let’s not waste any more time.’

Crowley licked his lips. ‘I want to watch you,’ he rasped. ‘In your shop, needing to go. But being too busy so refusing the need.’

‘Oh,’ said the angel with a sly smile. ‘You’ve thought about this.’

‘Yesss,’ admitted Crowley, rolling his hips. ‘I want to watch you hold yourself. Through your trousers. I want to watch your leg jiggle. I want to watch you bite your lip, getting a little worried.’

‘But I’m still ignoring it?’

‘Yes. You try to finish the task you’re working on. It’s becoming very difficult to concentrate but you only have a few more books to put away, so you press on. Your leg is really jiggling now, and you hold yourself more often.’

‘Oh dear…’

‘Yes...you’re being very bad, angel. Very bad.’

‘Mmph,’ said Aziraphale.

‘You go to put one last book where it belongs when you have that… pang, and you know you must act now. You try to dash to the lavatory, but you can’t run without leaking.’

‘Go on,’ said Aziraphale, kissing his aroused demon on the mouth, then waiting for more of this forbidden scenario.

‘You’re stuck right there, unable to move. You make a little noise and hold yourself tighter, but now there’s a mark on your trousers. A wet patch.’

Aziraphale pushed into Crowley’s hand at the idea. He was already leaking precum, and wondered how long it would be before it seeped through to stain his trousers, just like Crowley was describing in the fantasy. 

‘You press your thighs together, trying to stop it. You put another hand in your crotch. You make an  _ adorable _ whimpering noise. And you  _ know _ what’s going to happen, and it’s too late.’

‘Oh,’ muttered Aziraphale as Crowley continued, all whispers and gasps.

‘And then it happens. I’m watching you. You’re wetting yourself in the middle of your shop.’

‘And you like it,’ whispered Aziraphale, slowly losing his mind.

‘So much,’ said Crowley. ‘I love watching your trousers darken over your crotch as you release, the wet patch growing around your hands and fingers. I love knowing exactly which muscles are contracting and releasing. Knowing exactly what that flood of heat and wetness feels like. Knowing exactly how naughty you feel for doing it. I’m watching it spread down over your thighs and pour down your legs in that forbidden rush, and watching your face go red as you soak your clothing.’

Aziraphale moaned. Crowley was rubbing him, applying delicious pressure. He wasn’t sure about the reality of all of that, but what the  _ thoughts _ of it were doing to Crowley… well that was some next level delight.

‘You want to see me darken my trousers? Lose myself?’ he encouraged.

‘All the time,’ confessed the demon. Crowley’s unfastened his jeans plunged his hand into his underpants, starting to stroke himself. 

Aziraphale pushed against the heel of Crowley’s hand. ‘Yes. Harder,’ he said. They crashed into a sloppy, wild kiss, moaning into each other’s mouths. Then Crowley needed to continue the story.

‘I’m watching you hold yourself in vain. It’s dripping into your socks and shoes and collecting in a puddle on the floor. I’m watching you trying not to moan with pleasure at the intense release as you fully empty yourself.’

‘Ohh,’ groaned Aziraphale, as Crowley’s movements quickened, the sound of fapping filling the air. ‘Now, tell me what happens after I’ve wet myself, and you’ve watched me do it.’ 

‘Yesss,’ said Crowley, his breathing unsteady, rocking lightly on the chair. ‘I come out from where I’ve been hiding and watching. You are so ashamed. You know you’ve been caught and you’re waiting to be punished.’ 

The angel gave a filthy moan. 

‘I touch you,’ said Crowley, trying not to outright pant. He squeezed Aziraphale through the material. ‘Just like this, cupping you. Feeling how wet you are. I tut. I tell you you’ve been bad. I tell you you’ve been tempted and you’re mine now.’ 

‘Hmmm,’ smiled the angel. A damp spot appeared under the demon’s ministrations as the angel’s arousal increased. They noticed at the same time and leered gleefully at each other.

Crowley moved his hand down the angel’s thigh. ‘I trace your guilty wetness...’ he breathed, before falling into another lustful kiss, too aroused to continue.

Aziraphale, adoring the demon’s inhibition, thrust his own hand into his crotch to make up for the absent pressure and rutted clumsily against it. Their tongues slid and twisted together as the wine, the visions, and the desire combined to pull them into a pool of dizzy pleasure.

They broke apart breathless, deciding to channel more finesse to other areas. 

Crowley was still stroking Aziraphale’s thigh. ‘I…’

‘Yes?’

‘I pin you against the wall, my sinful angel. I thrust against you, wanting to feel it for myself - your wetness.’ His eyes drifted closed, losing himself for a moment as he pumped his cock. 

Oooh,’ intoned Aziraphale, moving erratically now, the thought of Crowley pressing against him, despite the state of him, sending him into headspin. He palmed himself in earnest, and Crowley’s hand joined his for added pressure. The angel’s hips were jerking up, almost leaving the chair, his head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley knew his storytelling was taking his angel over the edge. ‘I like how it feels against my own clothes. You are... soaking and I…’ 

‘Mmm?’

‘...I can feel it through my jeans. I rub myself against you.’ He cautiously opened his eyes, checking Aziraphale was still with him.

The angel smiled encouragingly, just a hint of a smoulder. ‘Wicked,’ he breathed. 

They kissed gracelessly again, faces close together, breath mingling, movements frantic. Crowley poked his fork tongue out to lick Aziraphale’s throat.

‘You’re a mess,’ he growled. ‘But you’re my mess, and I...I will defile you...’ The demon moaned, voice pitched high, and Aziraphale recognised he was very close.

‘Are you being rough with me Crowley?’ urged Aziraphale, breathlessly. ‘For being such a bad angel? For disgracing myself?’

‘Yesss,’ keened Crowley, voice breaking. 

‘Grinding against me?’

‘Mmpphh.’

‘Going to coat me in your seed?’

‘Yesss..’

‘And then mark your territory? Oh!’ Aziraphale came as he said it, spurting through his trousers and into his hand. He cried out into Crowley’s mouth as creamy fluid gushed through his fingers and all over the demon’s hand and wrist.

‘Yesss, yesss, yesssssss,’ Crowley cried, following with his own powerful orgasm. He ejaculated in powerful jets, slopping his come freely over his hand, his underwear and his jeans. 

They practically collapsed in on each other, slumping on the table, panting and sighing, and then shortly after, giggling. 

Calm and sated, they kissed lazily, becoming more and more conscious of the late hour.

Crowley grinned. ‘I think it would be wise to miracle ourselves clean  _ before _ sobering up,’ he proposed. 

‘Good thinking, my dear,’ said Aziraphale. With a kiss, they both scourged their clothing and any collateral damage. They held hands as they sobered up, then stood blinking at each other, in the cold light of day, or rather evening.

‘Well, that was naughty, wasn’t it,’ said Aziraphale brightly.

‘Yeah,’ said Crowley. ‘Liked it though. I’d do it again.’

‘So would I,’ the angel agreed, eyes gleaming.

‘And now that entire case of wine is no longer in your system, you don’t have to worry about wetting the bed.’

‘Crowley!’ cried Aziraphale, tingling with shame. 

The demon grinned broadly at him. ‘It wasn’t just a little bit, was it, angel? You woke up in a soaking wet bed, didn’t you? Tut tut.’

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at Crowley, but broke into a soft glow when sure it was good-natured teasing. ‘Yes, all right. But it was only once. Now shut up.’ 

Crowley kissed him tenderly. ‘I liked sharing that with you.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Aziraphale, straightening his bow tie. ‘Sounds like a fun game, that  _ culture _ of yours. Perhaps we should give it a try.’

‘Seriously?’ asked Crowley.

‘I don’t see why not. Like you said, nothing to be ashamed of, and superior clean-up methods.’

‘You know angel,’ said Crowley. ‘Sometimes I really don’t understand how you’re still an angel.’

Aziraphale looked at him fiercely. ‘My dear boy,’ he said evenly. ‘I am a being of love. And I know I am going to love watching you wet your pants while begging for forgiveness.’

He smirked triumphantly and went upstairs, leaving Crowley to pick his jaw up off the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> This may become a fun little series. If you'd like that, prompt away.  
UPDATE: Series can be found here https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454197


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